Those Left Behind
by TeresaAmaliaJane
Summary: When Lisbon's brother is murdered, Jane picks up the pieces and discovers what it's like to try and stop a person from getting revenge. Short multi-chapter. Jisbon, of course. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello again, this story is to blow off some steam concerning Year 12, I haven't written for a hell of a long time and this is the result of that. Will probably be four chapters, at most. **

**Please read and review!**

**If I owned the Mentalist, why would I be here?**

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><p>'It is.'<p>

'It isn't.'

'It is.'

'It _isn't_.'

The crunch of the Citroen on thick gravel was a welcomed distraction. As Jane gently brought the car to a stop, Lisbon hissed in frustration, her temples throbbing from a headache only ten minutes old. The drive had taken fifteen, so there was no question as to its cause. On cue, Jane turned to her, unbuckling his seatbelt with a smirk she didn't like.

'It is,' he mouthed. Lisbon groaned.

'For God's sake, Jane.'

She couldn't even remember what they'd been arguing about; something about a bucket struck a familiar chord but she really didn't care enough to delve any further into it. The beginnings of a sunset swirled to meet her as the car door swung open, a light smudging of orange across the sky that suggested something spectacular to come. She wished for it to be here now, to soothe the throbbing in her head and provide at least a nice backdrop for what would probably be a tedious case. They were in an alleyway, of all places, and Jane did not miss the opportunity to point out the cliché. She strung together some sort of response as they strode toward the small crowd of police officers, gathered around what she assumed was the body. The promise of a night of TV and ice-cream called to her softly like some sort of distant dream. In her head, she groaned again.

On reflection, Lisbon supposed that the first sign of something wrong was present in Van Pelt. The redhead walked over almost reluctantly, her eyes glued to the small notebook in her hands.

'Body was found half an hour ago,' she informed, before Lisbon had a chance to open her mouth. 'Medical examiner thinks it's been here at least twelve hours.' Van Pelt's eyes flickered to Lisbon for a moment before resting on Jane. 'Cause of death looks to be blunt force trauma to the head. Rigsby's got the couple who found the body. They're pretty shaken up.'

'Victim's name?' Lisbon asked. Van Pelt chose to meet her gaze then, opening her mouth to reply but then deciding against it. Instead, she looked at Jane again, something in her eyes that would have, on any other day, been directed toward a family member or friend of the victim. Sympathy. Lisbon glanced across to Jane, to see an expression she hadn't seen him wear before. And she would have stopped to contemplate, had her headache not grown quite so irritating.

'I'll find out myself,' she muttered, pushing past the both of them.

The second sign was the fact that Hightower had turned up. Unlike Van Pelt, she did not hesitate to meet Lisbon's gaze, stepping forward with a question on her lips.

'Just what do you think you are doing?'

Lisbon faltered, confusion fluttering in her stomach. 'About to survey the body, Ma'am,' she eventually replied. Hightower took a deep breath.

'Agent Cho will be the lead agent on this case, Teresa,' she told her. The use of Lisbon's first name threw whatever reply she'd prepared straight out of her head, and slight confusion gave way to a wary suspicion.

'What's going on?' she asked, and Hightower's pursed-lipped silence confirmed what she'd unconsciously been putting together. Something was wrong. Not just the usual wrong associated with a crime scene; a particularly gruesome corpse, a dangerous family member, a threatening note. No, this was worse, somehow, and the thought unsettled her. Jane appeared to her left and she could feel his gaze scorching her, causing an anger to burn just under her skin. He knew something she didn't, and the thought made her sick.

Her eyes flickered around the scene, taking in the high grey concrete of the surrounding buildings, the gravel under her feet, the familiar smell of death in her nostrils. She began to move, her feet shifting of their own accord in a gravitation toward the stench. Her hands fumbled for her badge; the officers let her pass.

The third sign was the body.

The man lay on his back, his face turned towards her, his dark hair glistening red in the dull light. His arms were covered by a parka, reaching out to her as if they were about to embrace. His eyes were open, their piercing green gazing directly at her. They were her eyes, she'd always been told. Lisbon wanted to scream, wanted to throw up, cry, do anything other than simply fade into observation with the scenery bleeding to white around them. But she could only stare.

And Tommy just stared back, the dried blood framing his face.

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><p>Jane watched her features change, willing himself to look away and hating that he couldn't. Her eyes had fallen on the body of her youngest brother, and that was it. She no longer existed. Her eyes wide, her lips parted, looking for all the world like she'd been hypnotised and he guessed that she had been, in a sense. A voice in his head told him to just get her away, and for once he decided to listen to it. In the silence, his footsteps were an earthquake. Lisbon didn't acknowledge his hand on her shoulder, nor did she resist when he turned her away from the body.<p>

'Jane,' he heard from Hightower. Her face was soft. 'Take her home. Don't let her come back until the case is closed.'

'Sure,' he heard himself say.

Slowly, carefully, he led Lisbon past Grace, past Rigsby and Cho, past the local police officers who barely glanced up from their paperwork. She was silent as they approached his car, eyes down as she fumbled with her seatbelt. Lisbon jumped at the sound of the engine, white as a ghost, and as the car pulled out onto the road Jane realised that, for the first time in years, he was lost for words. He should have had many. His own shadows and regrets should have, if anything, prepared him for this. But then he looked at her, saw her in a way he'd never seen her, even during the McTeir case, and forgot himself.

After a while, when the silence became too intense, Jane pulled into a parking lot and switched off the engine. Lisbon seemed unaware of the new stillness, her face blank when he glanced over.

'You okay?' he asked, and instantly cringed. Of course she wasn't. It took her a very long time to answer.

'No,' she said, very quietly, and Jane assumed that her dazed state would allow her only a word but then she turned her head to him. 'I guess I should be crying, or something, huh.' He wasn't used to her voice shaking.

'No, not really.' Unedited words came to Jane's mouth and he forced them out. 'When my wife and daughter were killed, I didn't cry for two days.'

'You're kidding,' she breathed and he shook his head.

'It was a tricycle, of all things. Left at the bottom of the stairs.' Jane felt the pressing of grief on his back, but pushed it away. His own pain was irrelevant to the matter, he told himself, as Lisbon broke his gaze to stare at the dashboard. Her eyes were as dry as he'd ever seen them. She wasn't an emotional person, he'd learnt that years ago, but no-one was immune to this kind of pain and he felt like the waiting had begun. He could sense it, perhaps days away, perhaps minutes, but it was coming.

Eventually, he eased the engine back into life and they blended into a thick lane of traffic. There were no more words but the silence was less imposing, a silence that held on until Jane drove straight past the CBI.

'What are you doing?'

'Taking you home,' he told her.

'No, no..' she trailed off, then found herself again. 'I can't go home, I can't.' She'd raised her voice and desperation began to leak from every syllable. 'Jane, turn the car around.'

'Look at you,' he gestured. 'You're a mess, Lisbon. You need to go _home_.'

'What I _need_ is to go to work. I need to catch a killer.' The vein in her neck throbbed. 'I can't just do _nothing_.'

He very nearly turned the car around. So close to being on her side, because he'd seen it from her side. He was no stranger to the pain, the helplessness, the anger. He understood her need for revenge to be taken, and for just one moment his foot touched the brake. But then the picture of her, frenzied and armed, seeped into his head; violent justice in her heart, blood in her hair, madness in her eyes. No matter how much she would argue, how much she would hate him for it, he couldn't let her turn into him.

'I'm sorry, Lisbon,' he told her. But she'd begun muttering to herself.

'No, I'm not going home…I'm not…' Jane thought that might have been it, but without warning she then reached out and attempted to take the steering wheel from him. The car lurched to the right.

'What the hell are you doing?' Jane tried to wrench her arm away, but driving in a straight line had suddenly occupied all of his concentration. Lisbon had lost her mind, it was the only conclusion he could make. There was a wall of traffic on either side of the Citroen. Was she trying to kill them both?

'Jane, I need…there are suspects, there are…_brake_, god dammit!' The car had begun to swerve from side to side, resulting in a chorus of angry horns from every direction.

'Lisbon,' he shouted, 'Lisbon..' she wasn't listening to him. He risked a glance at her face, and didn't have the nerve to define what he found there. Sliding across the wheel, his fingers grasped her wrist and she finally looked at him.

'Teresa.'

She stopped then, their faces inches apart, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she saw fear in his eyes. Because what he saw in hers frightened him more than he would admit. It took Lisbon a second to recoil, and as Jane returned her wrist there was shock on her face. His foot must have found the brake because they were barely moving, and cars were overtaking them in frustration.

'I didn't…I wasn't…oh, God, sorry.'

For a moment or two, Jane let the car trundle along at 10 miles, ignoring the abuse from the drivers around him. He didn't hear their words or the incessant beeping of their horns; he only felt the immense grief from the passenger seat, kept inside in the most painful of ways. And, all of a sudden, he felt a sympathy he'd long ago assumed himself incapable of feeling. Thomas Lisbon. It was incomprehensible, that a single corpse in an alleyway could do such things as take a person from their life; not kill them, but keep them, just long enough for the pain to have its way. That a face could change a person as Tommy's had changed Lisbon. The defining feature in life, the same in death. Jane couldn't stand the thought of being defined.

'I'm going to take you home now, okay?' he voiced gently.

'Okay.'

In the near distance, the sunset had arrived, and it's colours shot through them both like a cruel joke.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, please review! Next chapter will be up soon.<strong>

**Jess :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! If you've been waiting for an update from me before then you'll know that six days is absolutely insanely fast, for me. So I'm proud of myself, haha. I've forgotten what Lisbon's house looks like so please don't take too much notice of the details, I made them up. **

**Again, if I owned the Mentalist I would _not _be here.**

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><p>The moment Jane parked in the driveway, Lisbon retreated without a word to her living room. He'd assumed that she would be calling one of her brothers, having noticed that the phone was not on its holder in the kitchen. The clock above the sink depicted near seven, but between the crime scene and here time had lost much of its relevance, and so he gave her a little privacy. She deserved that much. Jane poked around in the cupboards for tea, irritated when there was none and he realised that this was probably her way of rebelling against him.<p>

It occurred to him that there was silence from the living room, and it was only then that he saw the phone on the bench.

On first glance, it didn't look at all like a living room. Granted, there was the couch, the television in the corner and a small shelf of books lined up like soldiers along the wall. But they'd been pushed aside, forgotten. There was a scattering of files across the couch; he wondered how they'd found their way here from her office. A large red photo album lay on a small coffee table, its contents open to the ceiling. Lisbon stood in the middle of the room beside a large whiteboard, deep in thought; the name of her brother was scrawled in black across the stark white surface. She'd drawn a handful of lines like spiderlegs, her hand poised at one of them now, about to write.

'Lisbon..' he began, but she cut him off.

'Time of death was, at the latest, six thirty am,' she informed him. 'Today is a Tuesday, so he would have been on his morning jog, and the crime scene coincides with his route…'

Jane tried again, a little louder this time. 'Lisbon, you can't solve a murder running on nothing but oxygen and rage.' He was all too aware of the thin ice under his feet, so kept his voice gentle. 'Please don't try.'

'…which means that most of California had opportunity.' She bluntly ignored him, refusing to even acknowledge his presence. 'No wife or children, lived alone, his house is four blocks from where he was killed.'

'Lisbon,' he tried again. 'Teresa.' But even the use of her first name did not startle her into submission, as it had before.

'Cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head. There's a sports equipment shop on the same street as the alleyway, so there's a chance the murder weapon could be a baseball bat or a hockey stick.' Lisbon added this to the board.

He knew exactly what she was doing. During the last ten minutes of the drive home, he'd glanced over and the change had saddened him, but he'd almost been expecting it. Lisbon's grief had evolved into anger; what she saw in her day was not a dead brother anymore, but a murderer. Her weaker traits-love, sorrow, guilt-had disappeared to make way for the bigger picture. She was an emotional zombie, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

'I'll go make some coffee, then,' he told her. She didn't reply.

Over the next four hours, Jane put the kettle on more times than he could count. Lisbon was scribbling furiously every time he opened the door, but the mug was always empty when he came back. Outside the window, the sunset had evaporated and a moonless night faced them both, timid stars and silence.

He spent the time wandering around Lisbon's house, trying not to trespass too much. She'd always drawn her walls tightly around her, and here, the only place where she let them down, was a place of incredible temptation. If she'd been a stranger in a case, a relative of the victim or a potential suspect, then he would have been in her sock drawer without a second thought. But she wasn't that; she was more than an insignificant name in a case, and he kept well clear of any closed doors should they lead to her bedroom. The photos on the wall, however, were another matter. After all, why would she put them up if she didn't want them to be seen?

She was so like her brothers. The observation threw itself at him; they had the same hair, the same piercing green eyes. He recognised Tommy, though it took him a second, quite good-looking without the blood glistening in his hair. Tommy's sister he couldn't recognise either, because in these moments without a gun or a badge Lisbon didn't exist. It was Teresa who smiled out at him, who appeared so small and fragile beside these three men who could break her neck in an instant. And suddenly, he felt a raging need to protect her. To walk out of her house, find the son of a bitch who'd killed her brother and use so many bullets that it wouldn't even be a body on the ground, just a pile of bones and retribution.

The feeling left as quickly as it came. Jane backed away from the photo until he found the opposite wall, his eyes on the ground. He wondered where the surge of protectiveness had come from, and confusion found him when he realised he didn't have an answer.

At eleven thirty, he pushed open the door to the living room, his hands empty. Lisbon had stopped writing, and the whiteboard was covered in her typical cop scrawl. But there was frustration bubbling underneath the determination; she stared at her words with hard eyes, the gears of her brain visually spinning. There were a lot of words on the board, but it was easy to see that she was getting nowhere. Granted, it was difficult to solve a murder without interviewing suspects or even leaving the house. Jane stepped towards her, choosing his words carefully.

'It's nearly midnight.' He expected her to ignore him, vaguely wondering what he would then do. But then she spoke, her jaw clenching in toleration.

'There's a couch in the other room.' She talked to the whiteboard. 'Blanket's in the cupboard.' He took another step in her direction.

'That's not what I meant,' he said, and for the first time in hours she turned to him, a defiant posture and a harsh loudness.

'This is my house, Jane,' she asserted, meeting his gaze directly. 'You can't tell me what to do. Go home.' There was the same anger in her words, but he sensed something else just below the surface that he couldn't pinpoint. Unsure of its danger, he softened his expression and spoke lightly.

'I can't.'

He'd tipped her over the edge, that was clear; the fire leapt to rage in her eyes and in that moment he wished the steely grief was back.

'Well, I can't go to bed.' She was close to yelling now, her voice hoarse. 'Not yet. You of _all_ people should understand.'

'Yes, I do.' He raised his voice to match hers, dismissing something which told him he shouldn't. 'But you've got to stop.'

'I can't, Jane! What don't you understand? There is a bastard out there who _killed _my _brother_.' No hint of sadness; she'd converted it all.

'Cho has the case under control.'

'How do you know?'

'Because I trust him. You do too.'

'Not with this,' she spat, and the change in her was more evident in that moment than it had ever been. Lisbon would trust Cho with her life, given the opportunity. But death had darkened her, erased the light Jane had never noticed until now, and she stood unrecognisable before him.

'Revenge doesn't suit you, Lisbon,' he told her.

'And you think it suits you?' Her accusation was quiet, and it was a moment before Jane realised what she'd said. He had no answer, aware of the stunned expression on his face but unable to wipe it clean. A tense silence hung in the air and he suddenly realised what it was that he'd been unable to define in her expression. Exhaustion, deep in her eyes; he could see her struggling to keep it down, but the day had been long and not even this shade of Lisbon was immune to the simple need to sleep.

She realised this as he did.

'Fine,' she muttered. He wondered if he'd imagined it but then she snapped the lid back on her marker and set it down on the table. He mumbled something about the blanket in the cupboard, and left the room.

Lisbon's words still echoed painfully around his head. _And you think it suits you?_ The image of her shouting at him was vivid, and as he traipsed along the hallway he wondered if she spoke the truth. The thought that she did frightened him slightly; he thought back to the Red John cases, the confrontations, the shootouts. Did he really look like that? Were his eyes that wild, his defence that misguided? He tried to remember but the memory of those moments had always been blurry for him. It was only now, looking back, that he realised the blurriness may have been because he was blind.

Jane found the cupboard easily enough and the blanket was soft in his arms. Lisbon, he knew, could not be trusted to get to bed by herself, so he returned to the living room, bracing himself for the process of re-talking her out of her resolve. What he found instead surprised him.

She lay on her side on the small couch, her eyes closed and one arm hanging over the edge, the fingers grazing the floor. Her stomach rose and fell with the gentle slowness of the asleep. She was more exhausted than he'd originally thought; he could not have been gone any more than two minutes, and yet here she was. Jane quietly crossed the room and lay the blanket over her, an almost paternal smile on his face when she sighed and snuggled down deeper into the couch. The dim light fell across her face, softening her features, and Jane stood for a moment just watching her.

He couldn't help but marvel at how unconsciousness changed her. The anger was gone, the drive, everything. Irrelevant to her now. She was no longer the Lisbon he'd tiptoed around all evening; no longer the Lisbon he worked for every day, unbreakable, strong. She was Teresa from her photographs, soft and vulnerable.

And of all the Lisbons, he decided that he liked this one the best.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it...please review! Comments, nice words, mean words, whatever.<strong>

**Jess :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again... here's Chapter Three. There'll be one more after this. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! Enjoy, please R&R.**

**Honestly, I don't own anything apart from my imagination.**

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><p>She trudged into the kitchen as Jane was making coffee, having spent the past ten minutes paused beside the kettle, waiting for her footsteps. He set the mug gently down in front of her as she sunk into the chair, her hair messy and her eyes soft.<p>

'Thanks,' she mumbled, raising it to her lips and closing her eyes as the liquid slid down her throat. Jane sat down opposite her and observed silently; she didn't seem angry today, at least not yet. Lisbon hadn't headed straight for her whiteboard the moment she'd woken, and he supposed that this was a good sign. Maybe the rage had diminished; maybe the phase was over. It was a strange and horrible game, waiting for something he couldn't hope to predict. The thought drifted away as Lisbon glanced down at the coffee, confused.

'There's no sugar in this,' she said eventually, her eyebrows raised at Jane. As if he'd _forget_ how she took her coffee.

'It'll do you good,' he told her. 'Good for the nightmares.' Lisbon's confusion mounted and he spoke a little awkwardly. 'You were…tossing and turning, in your sleep.'

He didn't add that she'd also been talking in her sleep. He'd watched her for around ten minutes, feeling like some sort of stalker but unable to turn away. Her breathing had taken some minutes to quicken, harshen, and the slurring of urgent words had come soon after. The name Tommy he heard many times. At that moment, the sheer desire to protect her had once again overcome him, and he'd been torn between two actions. The urge to soothe her, to wrap his arms around her and rock her gently into calm as he'd done with his little girl, had been startlingly strong. But also, there'd been a large part of him that longed to turn and wipe the board clear, to take the files and shred them into pieces. He wanted her to solve the case, because he understood that she needed to, but at the same time he wanted her to give it up, because the thought of her darkness destroying her made him feel sick.

Confusion, however, had proven just as bad.

Sometime between finally leaving the room and settling onto Lisbon's other couch, Jane had realised with a start that he was changing. When he'd first joined the CBI, new and vindictive, the world had been full of people standing in his way and he'd observed it as if through glass. But the image of Lisbon before him, he had never seen so clearly. He didn't know whether it was the passing of time or the absence of a lead, but on the way to the couch he had caught his reflection in a mirror and, for the first time in a long time, Red John had not stared back. There'd still been the past, but not quite so visible on his face, and a faint light in his eyes he couldn't define.

Something now occurred to him, as he watched her drink her coffee. At first Jane brushed it away, but it refused to go and he considered it for a moment. If it were false hope, he could bury it, but if it were true… then it meant that, contrary to popular belief, he was actually terrible at observation.

'What?' Lisbon asked suddenly, lurching Jane back to reality and the fact that he'd been staring.

'Nothing,' he replied, but he was lying. The tabletop began to vibrate then and Jane flicked his phone open, glad for the mental distraction.

'Hello?'

'Hi, Jane.' It was Van Pelt. 'How is she?'

'Oh, hey, Grace.' He could sense Lisbon's attention shift. 'She's…alright. How's the case going?' She paused before answering, and the silence was a nervous one.

'We've got him, Jane.'

His first thought was relief. There was now no possibility of Lisbon trapped in her own bloodthirst; no more doubt that she would now come back to them, as controlled and sensible as she'd always been. Jane let out a breath of tension, his eyes fluttering closed. But then he remembered that Van Pelt had paused, reluctant or frightened of saying the words. They'd won, but there was a catch. Something was not quite right.

'He came in this morning and confessed,' Van Pelt continued, evidently finding speech easier as she went. 'Just like that. Turns out we really didn't have to do much at all.'

'Change of conscience?' he asked.

'Seems that way. I don't blame him, seeing that…' she paused again, and then her voice was strong. 'Jane, I don't think it's a good idea to bring Lisbon in today.' Her assertion fell like concrete.

'You know I won't be able to do that,' he told her, refusing to meet Lisbon's demanding gaze.

'I know, but…you don't understand…'

'We're on our way,' he said, standing up, and shut his phone to her stammerings.

'What's happened?' asked Lisbon immediately, pushing back her chair as well, and at last he looked her in the eye. Jane didn't have to speak for her to understand; he knew that the expression he gave her was enough. Something deep down warned him that letting Lisbon come with him may have dire consequences-there was much concern in Van Pelt's voice, and he could sense an emotional wave looming on the horizon. But for every piece of him that saw the warning, there was another defiant piece knowing beyond doubt that Lisbon would not be kept. Because the fire had returned to her eyes, and it burnt a raging hole through him even bigger than before.

He wouldn't let her destroy herself, and he shouldn't give her the chance to but he couldn't find enough sense to stand in her way.

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><p>Cho sat like a statue on one end of the table, his hands on the cold surface. Jane stood on the other side of the one-way window and supposed that there was no point in analysing him; he looked like he did with any criminal. In stark contrast, Lisbon shook almost violently in his peripheral vision. He couldn't quite tell whether it was in shock or rage, but he noticed her hands balled into fists and decided on the latter.<p>

On the other end of the table, Peter Lisbon fidgeted, his eyes swollen with the redness of recent tears. He didn't look like a murderer, but then again, they never did.

'Where's Tess?' he asked in a shaky voice. 'Is she here?' He'd queried the same words repeatedly for the past ten minutes. It was only now that Cho thought it worthwhile to answer him.

'Yeah, she's here,' he said, characteristically blunt, and then leaned forward. 'So why don't you tell her why you killed her brother.'

'He was _my _brother too!' The outburst came from nothing, and after a moment Peter resorted to defence. 'He was _sleeping _with my _wife_…what the hell _should _I have done?'

'Filed for divorce, like everyone else,' Cho offered.

'Look, Agent…you don't get it.' Pete glanced down and then back up. 'I need to see Tess. Can I see her?' His voice had gained strength, and Cho took this into account.

'No,' he replied. 'But she can see you.' It was a long moment before Peter processed the information, before his eyes began to dart around the bare room as if Lisbon would materialise from the wall. Beside Jane, Lisbon's eyes were closed and she looked to be in the midst of some internal war.

'Oh, God,' Peter uttered, his wide eyes back on Cho. 'I'm _sorry_…I'm so sorry, it was an accident, please, I didn't mean for Tommy to die.' With the last word, he put his head in his hands and began to sob, with the gravity of his action heavier than it had seemed at the time. And in that moment, Lisbon's anger won the war. She made her move for the door on her right, breaking Jane's grasp on her wrist, ignoring him when he hissed her name. But it wasn't her anymore, it hadn't been her since yesterday and she barged through the door nameless and lethal. Shoving past an unsuspecting Cho, she threw both hands down hard on the table and yelled with everything she had.

'You BASTARD!' Rather than pale in fear, surely aware of her capabilities, Peter looked up at her with something akin to hope in his eyes.

'Tess…' he began, but he was cut off.

'DON'T call me that!' She lunged across the table at him, but Cho had stood and somehow managed to restrain her. Jane entered the room a couple of seconds after her and suddenly, from struggling in Cho's grip, she was savagely fighting her way past him. Jane wrapped his arms around her, pretending not to hear her obscenities in his ear, and held on for dear life. Where the hell were Rigsby and Van Pelt? It took all that he physically had to hold her and all that he mentally had to not simply let her go. Peter deserved everything she would do to him, but Cho was already pulling him to his feet.

'Please, Tess,' he pleaded, 'I don't want to go to prison, you can stop them…'

'And why the FUCK would I do that?' Peter stared at her, and a dazed shock seeped into his expression as Cho shoved him through the door. His older sister, second mother, refused to save him. The shock was understandable, the denial was not.

With strength he wasn't aware that he had, Jane pinned Lisbon against the wall. Her eyes were still on the door, their piercing green absorbed into a livid white. In that moment, she terrified him, and he realised that he'd just seen her heart break.

'Lisbon,' he breathed. 'Lisbon. Look at me.' She didn't appear to have heard, but she'd stopped fighting him and he repeated himself, almost whispering. Slowly, her eyes flickered left to meet his, and in one swift departure all her anger, every ounce of her darkness, evaporated into retrospect. And finally, the tears came. Instinctively, Jane pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the sobs rack her body and embraced the pain with her, the agony more violent now that it was free. Lisbon cried shamelessly into his shoulder for everything she was worth, and her tears wet his vest but he really didn't care. With her deflated body pressed to his, a shiver ran down his back and he hated himself for making the situation about him.

Jane half led, half carried her to his couch. Past Van Pelt and Rigsby who had just returned from the elevator and could only stare. Lisbon sank horizontally onto the rustic leather, the tears refusing to stop now they had begun. He settled himself on the floor with his back against the front of the couch, somewhere near her shoulder. It was easier, he discovered, to not look at her when she cried; then he could pretend it wasn't her, pretend she was in her office or out following a lead. He didn't like the feeling of not knowing what to do; he knew at least to tread carefully when she was angry, but the sadness had him dumbfounded. The only sound was her anguish, as he tried and failed to process the past half hour.

Eventually, Lisbon's sobs subsided and a silence descended.

'When Tommy was eight,' she murmured, 'there was a boy that would bully him at school. I was taller than him, but I couldn't do anything because I was a girl.' She was bitter with this thought, the weakness of childhood, but then she came to the part of the story that she liked the best. 'Pete walked over,' she said, 'and beat the crap out of him. He got detention, but he didn't care.'

'That's the memory you have of primary school?'

'Yeah.'

'Sadist,' Jane told her, and he could feel her smile as she swatted her hand playfully against the side of his face. He understood, however, why the memory returned to her now. She didn't pull back her arm, but let it dangle near his shoulder.

'Pete has two little girls, you know.' Her voice had quietened considerably, and Jane could feel her breath on the back of his neck. He tried for words but found himself incapable.

They'd come full circle. She'd shifted in between the Lisbon he knew, the Lisbon he feared and Teresa, fragile and happy. Shades of Lisbon he'd never been looking quite hard enough to see. But Jane now turned to meet her soft gaze and the Lisbon he knew looked back, red-eyed and raw. For the first time in eighteen hours, he recognised her.

And her presence in this bright, busy room was the only thing he could see.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked it! Please review.<strong>

**Jess :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi again! I'm sorry this is a week late, but I couldn't get the dialogue right and I didn't want the ending to be too cheesy...I hope it's not. This will be the last chapter; thank you so much to everyone who's read and reviewed this story! You made my month.**

**I don't own the Mentalist, but I sure wish I did.**

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><p>'Thomas Lisbon,' the minister said, 'was a son to Amalia and Benjamin.' His voice floated through the silence, warm and kind. 'He was a brother to Teresa, James and Peter. And his passing is a great tragedy. But,' he paused, 'as those left behind sadly miss his presence, we also console ourselves with the knowledge that our Lord has welcomed his soul into His heavenly kingdom.' There was wisdom in his smile. 'And so,' he concluded, 'on this day, we do not mourn a death, but celebrate a life.'<p>

Lisbon closed her eyes and smiled softly against the day, a gentle breeze stirring the sunlight on her cheeks. As the minister's words faded away, she took a deep breath and tuned in to the restless shifting of those gathered around her. So many people, the majority of them strangers but they'd greeted her with a smile and it comforted her to know that Tommy was so well-liked. There were faces missing from the crowd; Peter's wife Rebecca among them, but it was an absence she was relieved at. She didn't know whether she was capable of looking Bec in the eyes, capable of glancing down at Hayley and little Tasha and not wondering who their real father was.

It seemed a natural thing to have Jane there beside her. Five days ago she would have laughed, had someone told her that he would be the most calming presence at her brother's funeral. But the day had been a long one, and she didn't have the strength or desire to refuse his company.

'I'd like to request,' said the minister, 'for family members and close friends to remain behind for the lowering of the coffin.' Lisbon's eyes fluttered open and the scene once again came into view. The large coffin ahead of her was the first thing she focused on; for the third time, she swallowed down the tears, agitated by their closeness. Next to her, Jane watched the small clusters of people drifting toward the minister, and then looked down at his hands.

'I'd better…' he began, but she cut him off without thinking.

'Stay.' She met his sudden gaze with a question in her eyes, baffled by the strange panic that flared in her with his words. After a moment, he nodded.

'Okay.'

Ahead of them, Jim stood hugging his wife Leah from behind, his hands resting lightly on her pregnant stomach. His nose was pressed firmly into the crook of her neck and Lisbon was too familiar with the soft shake of his shoulders to assume it was a romantic moment. She very nearly turned away, but then he glanced up and saw her, his eyes glistening in the light. Jim smiled sadly at her, before murmuring something into Leah's ear and bringing a kiss to her cheek. As he headed toward them, he wiped the tears from his eyes.

'It's a nice day, at least,' he commented, and Lisbon smiled.

'Jim, this is Jane,' she told him, gesturing, and he raised his eyebrows.

'Jane?' She corrected herself. 'Patrick.'

'I'm sorry about your brother,' Jane said as they shook hands, and Jim's reply was darker than Lisbon knew he'd expected it to be.

'Which one?'

A silence descended, grief again tugging at Lisbon but she refused to turn. It had been months since she'd seen Jim; he looked exactly the same, dark hair and her eyes, she'd always been told, but it didn't change a thing. It had taken a death to bring them together again, and her stomach lurched with the knowledge. She opened her mouth, not quite sure what she was going to say, but then a tiny hand clasped onto hers and she looked down.

'Hello Auntie Tess.'

'Hi, Teddy,' she smiled, and he returned it but his wide, sad eyes betrayed him. Lisbon turned to Jim just in time to watch him fit his mask back into place. She knew the signs of mustering strength, having seen Jane do it many times, and supposed that it came with parenthood. Suddenly, she was glad she didn't have any children, because right now she barely had strength for herself.

'Hey Ted,' Jim said softly, gathering his four-year-old in his arms. Teddy's arms snaked around his neck and they stayed like that for a long moment, mumbling inaudible things, a secret conversation. It was so easy to see when a child needed comfort. They were weaving no illusions, had nothing to hide, and as Lisbon watched them she was reminded powerfully of her childhood, calming Jim down after a nightmare. She was twelve, he was six, and he'd fit perfectly into the side of her. Teddy was a replica of Jim, twenty-two years backwards, and he'd grown into a wonderful father.

'Excuse me.' Jane pulled Lisbon out of her observation, and when she looked over he'd already left. He'd been oddly quiet, she realised, but she didn't think any more of it as they began to drift over toward the minister.

'I think he likes you, Tess,' Jim told her, Teddy still clinging to him. Lisbon turned to give him scepticism and he laughed.

'I'm serious.'

'You wouldn't say that if you knew him,' she claimed, a blood red smile flashing before her.

'I don't need to know him.' Jim grinned. 'I like him. You have my permission.'

'Since when do I need your permission?'

'Well, since I'm now the man of the…' he trailed off, and suddenly all the weight that had lifted fell back down on their shoulders, twice as heavy as before. Lisbon stared at Jim, half-obscured under Teddy, and bleakly contemplated the horrors of being changed against one's will. The baby of the family, now forced to lead because of a killer and a victim. She could see the realisation lingering on him now. And in that moment, Lisbon fiercely hated both Pete and Tommy; Pete for taking Tommy away, Tommy for taking Pete away. It was wrong, she knew, but it overwhelmed her and she supposed that with everything that had happened in the past five days, wrong no longer seemed wrong.

As they reached the minister, Jane slotted into his place beside her and the lowering of the coffin began. With every inch it sank below ground level, Lisbon desperately wanted more and more to throw herself down into the grave, wrench the coffin open and shake Tommy back to life. Her losses hit her with the strength of a wall; her mother, her father, Tommy, Pete. Six people to two, and Jim was the only link that remained to her early childhood. It wasn't enough. How could it be? She could feel the tears pressing again and found herself incapable of keeping them down.

But then a warm hand slipped into hers, and she saw Jane's understanding through misty eyes.

In the silence, her fingers closed around his.

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><p>She asked Jane to drive her back to work, not because she wanted to be strong but because she was weak; the memories were waiting for her at home, poisonous and alive. He didn't argue for her wellbeing as he usually did, and it made her wonder if maybe the events of the week had affected him as well. He had been, after all, there beside her for the majority of the time, a sidekick in her near self-destruction. She couldn't imagine that it had been a pretty sight.<p>

The walls of her office were a comfort, a shield between her and the rest of the building. Even now, three days after Jane had dragged her, emotionally wrecked, to his couch, agents she didn't know gave her strange looks when she passed. Lisbon sank into her chair and quickly gave up the paperwork. Cho had been lead on Tommy's case, so those papers had thankfully eluded her but there were other cases. There were always other cases; other victims, other families, other murderers. More suspects, more motives and alibis and bloody affairs, all ending up on her desk as a documentation of evil. Would it ever stop?

Lisbon put her face in her hands and listened to the ticking of the clock above her head. She wanted Tommy to be alive, Pete to be innocent. She wanted her mother but at the same time she wanted her strength back, sick of feeling so fragile. She wanted to cry and to scream, simultaneously, and she wanted coffee.

Almost immediately after the thought entered her head, there was a soft clink on the desk in front of her and she smiled in gratitude.

'Are you sure you're not psychic?' she asked.

'It's not mind-reading,' he said. 'You always want coffee.' Lisbon wrapped her fingers around the warm china and closed her eyes as the searing warmth cascaded down her throat. It had become a habit, this, but she didn't really mind because he made the drink better than she did.

'Thank you, Jane.'

'Any time,' he told her.

'I'm not talking about the coffee.' He met her gaze and nodded slowly, a light smile floating across his face. And she meant it. It only now occurred to Lisbon how much closer they had become over the past few days. From two separate, stubborn colleagues to…what, exactly? Friends? The answer sounded artificial, even in her head, and she wondered if there was even a name for it, this dysfunctional function that they both seemed to thrive on. She rather liked the idea of it being undefinable. Then neither of them could analyse it, just watch it go past.

Jane cleared his throat then, and she glanced up to see him walking the fine line between calm and nervous. Her expression blended into anticipation of its own accord.

'Just so you know,' he said slowly, the blue of his gaze piercing her, 'when we catch Red John…you can have him.'

In the sudden silence, Lisbon could feel her eyes widen.

'I'm sorry…_what?_'

'I don't want revenge anymore.' She continued to stare, incapable of moving, and he met her shock with a shyness that looked wrong on him.

'Any reason for this change of heart?' she asked bleakly.

'Well, yes, actually.' Jane dropped his gaze to the floor. 'Vengeance,' he said, 'is…terrifying. I can't…I don't want…' There was a stilted pause as he struggled for the words. Lisbon knew the moment he'd found them; the moment he looked at her with all the emotions in the world stitched into his expression. 'I don't want people to be scared of me.'

She locked onto his fierce gaze, and the shapes of her office faded away. Lisbon found herself dumbfounded by his statement, by his rare and beautiful use of the truth. Something startling occurred to her, and she forced herself to remember the utterly foreign expression on his face as he'd pinned her against the interrogation room wall. Had it been fear? Had they, unknowingly, switched roles in this sadistic game; had she become Jane? If she'd known that all it would take was a look in the mirror, she would have done it years ago.

But contemplation suddenly lost all its meaning as sheer relief coursed through her, strong and breathtaking. The concept of Jane without his dark agenda had always seemed so far away, never within reach, always just in her head. Lisbon had forced herself a long time ago to accept that she would only ever see it from a distance. But the fact that it was here, now, sunk in with all the beauty she'd ever seen and her own emotional changes paled in comparison to this.

Lisbon stood slowly, her legs shaking, and crossed the room quickly to throw her arms around Jane's neck. He froze in surprise, but after a moment he returned the embrace and they stood like that for a long time. She blamed the events of the past week for her emotional reaction, but knew subconsciously that their boundaries, once so carefully constructed, had been blown apart anyway. After all, he'd seen her sleep, he'd seen her cry. He'd seen her just out of bed, for God's sake. Lisbon pulled back momentarily and then, without thought or warning, she leant in and pressed her lips to his.

It took her exactly one second to realise what she was doing, and exactly one more second to break the kiss and take a horrified step back.

'Oh, God, I'm sorry…' Lisbon could feel her cheeks burning, her conscience screaming, and rushed to the door with the intention of fleeing. She didn't know where she was going but she couldn't stay here anymore. Mortification thumped painfully in her stomach. Why the _hell_ had she done that?

'What's Teddy short for?' he asked to her back, and the absurd timing of his question was what made her hesitate. Taking a long, deep breath, she tried to steady herself at least a little but didn't trust herself to turn around.

'Theodore,' she stammered. 'What's that got to do with…'

'I just didn't want you to leave.' Jane paused, and in the silence she could sense the return of his nerves. 'Can I ask you a question?'

'I suppose so.' She figured she couldn't embarrass herself any more than she already had.

'You've been a cop for, what, ten years?'

'Twelve,' she corrected. 'Was that the question?'

'No,' he replied, and his next words sounded rehearsed. 'That's twelve years of pain. You go to work every day, load your gun and know that those bullets could end up in someone's heart.' Behind her, she heard soft footsteps. 'Two of your brothers are gone,' he said, 'but you're not. You're still intact.' Lisbon turned around then, to find that he was much closer than expected, only a couple of feet away. She tried to look away from him but found that she couldn't.

'How do you do it?' he asked. 'How do you wake up in the morning and see light? Because all I can see is darkness.'

Moisture hinted in his eyes as he looked at her, clear as the meaning of his words. She'd been able to translate them instantly, but it wasn't an impossible task. Jane's life had been dripping with blood and sadness, and now he wanted, amidst the darkness, light. Happiness, which for him had always been for other people, was now a dimness in the corner, and watching it grow would be a beautiful thing.

'I don't know,' she eventually answered him. Jane gave her a tender smile and stepped closer still. She shivered at the proximity, and a voice in her head commanded her to turn away but there was something else keeping it down, smothering the sense.

'Doesn't matter,' he mumbled, and she could feel his breath on her face. 'Knowledge is for cowards anyway.'

'Why's that?' she asked softly. Jane gently cupped her face in his hands and leant in until their foreheads were touching. As Lisbon closed her eyes, she realised suddenly that the reason she hadn't turned away wasn't because she couldn't, but because she didn't want to.

'Because if I knew everything,' he breathed, 'then doing this would not be half as terrifying.'

And with those words, he kissed her and this time they did it properly. She snaked her arms around his neck and tangled one hand in his soft curls as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. The warmth of him enveloped her, soothed her, blurred the corners of her conscious and for a moment she was dizzy. Lisbon couldn't remember whether her office door was open or not, but in the same instant she realised that she couldn't care less. Let them all stare, let them all announce her even more emotionally screwed. She was kissing Jane, after all. And as their kiss deepened, she wondered bleakly what she'd ever found appealing about sanity anyway.

What had the minister said? _We do not mourn a death, but celebrate a life._ It was Tommy's death, but Jane's life that was saved as a result. A tragedy for a miracle. Was it fair? She didn't know. But she did know the answer to his question, and one day she would tell him the truth. One day, she would tell him that she'd only ever been able to see light because it stood out against the glory of his darkness. And that he would have been able to see it too, contrasting against her own black ugliness this whole week, if only he'd known it was there to find.

But now was not the time.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, please review! <strong>

**Oh, and I'm thinking of doing a series of Jisbon oneshots based on quotes, not quotes from the Mentalist but from anywhere. If anyone's got any good quotes, I'd love to hear them. **

**Jess :)**


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